


Strength and Surrender

by verushka70



Category: due South
Genre: First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Sexual Tension, Slash, due South Seekrit Santa Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-26 04:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13228020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/pseuds/verushka70
Summary: He came around the desk and knelt at Fraser's feet, shrugging out of his jacket."Ray," Fraser said weakly, a blush rising on his cheeks. "Please–""No," Ray said stubbornly, voice low and determined. "Tell me what to do."





	Strength and Surrender

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/gifts), [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/gifts).



> For [JackyMedan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyMedan/), and for [Ride_Forever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ride_Forever/) (for patience-of-a-saint modding, cheerleading, and betaing).

Ray gradually came awake to the sensation of his head throbbing with sharp pain in rhythm with his heartbeat and the feeling of being jostled and jerked this way and that yet restrained. He opened his eyes but it didn't make any difference; it was as dark with them open as with them shut. Behind him—very close behind him; pressed heavily right up behind him—someone whimpered. Ray closed his eyes again. His head seemed to throb slightly less with them closed, and why not keep them that way since opening them offered no greater information because of the darkness.

The jostling and jerking, he slowly came to realize, was accompanied by the sounds of highway under wheels spinning and the low hum of a car engine. So, a trunk: he was in a trunk. With...? He inhaled slowly a few times... that clean, woolly, well-oiled, slightly herbal/piney and leathery scent was Fraser's Neatsfoot oiled Sam Browne belt and his high brown boots, his red wool Serge, and whatever Irish Spring-y type soap he used. Ray was in a moving car trunk with Fraser.

He suppressed a sigh and gingerly tried to move his limbs, not surprised to discover that his wrists were tied together, as were his ankles. He tried to move, cautiously, but it made his head hurt more. It also moved Fraser behind him. There was a whimpering sound against his shoulder, an uncharacteristic sound from Fraser, though not one of true sadness, more of deprivation or need. The whimper became a slurred murmur into his shoulder, hot and moist.

"Wwwray…. mmmit's good…." Fraser's voice was hoarse and groggy.

“Fraser,” Ray whispered fiercely. He wondered if he had his glasses, then figured it wouldn't matter until and unless the car stopped.

"Ne'er tol' you…" Fraser groaned softly. "So good." He pushed against Ray from behind.

Well, that was definitely not Fraser's hands, feet or knees. No, that was Fraser, Jr., poking hot and insistent, pressed into the clothed crease between Ray's buttocks.

"Fraser!" Ray whispered more loudly, but still whispering.

"Yer han's, Ray... bootiful, I ne'er tell you... so goo' on me..." Fraser whimpered again, thrusting weakly against Ray's backside.

Shit. Ray's face grew hot. Fraser was having a sex dream. While unconscious, tied up, and in a car trunk with Ray. Stuff like this always happened at the worst possible times. Well, at least it was happening to Fraser this time.

"Fraser," Ray hissed. "Wake up."

"Like 'at... fast-errr..." Fraser thrust faster against Ray's ass. "Oh, Ray, s'good, so good t'me, yer mouf–"

"Fraser!" Ray barked quietly, his face so hot he could feel sweat on his upper lip.

"Ray!" Fraser blurted hastily behind him, going motionless.

The car went over a bump, jostling them together hard, and Fraser's stiff erection poked Ray between the cheeks quite hard.

"I–I'm s-sorry, Ray–" Fraser stuttered. "I must've–I guess I–just before consciousness–"

"Forget it," Ray cut him off. "We got bigger problems." _Although that's a pretty big one_ , he thought, with a strange mixture of despair, desire, and curiosity. He wasn't supposed to have such thoughts about his partner, his _friend_. "My wrists and ankles are tied. How ‘bout yours?"

He felt Fraser move slightly behind him before going still. "Unfortunately, yes."

"Put your arms around my head from behind, like you wanna choke me," Ray suggested quietly.

"What? Why?"

"I'll try to untie the knots with my teeth," Ray replied.

"Oh." Fraser paused and then moved behind Ray. He seemed to be making a special effort to keep their bodies apart from the waist down.

Ray felt Fraser's forearms settle around his neck, wrists in front of his face.

"I'm not sure this will–" Fraser began awkwardly, the heels of his hands and the rope tying his wrists brushing Ray's lips.

"Got any better ideas?" Ray growled.

Fraser inhaled sharply, then paused. "I'm afraid not, no."

"Then hang on," Ray said.

He pushed his face forward, seeking the rope with his lips. He found it and then felt his way along the short line of it with his lips, painfully aware that his lips on the rope also brushed the soft skin of the inside of Fraser's wrists. The scratchy red sleeves of Fraser's uniform rubbed against his cheeks.

Of course, now that the firmness of Fraser, Jr. behind him was softening (or Fraser was keeping it away from him), his lips against the tender skin of Fraser's inner wrists began to stiffen Ray, Jr. Ray exhaled in frustration and Fraser's cupped palms reflected his exhalation back in his face.

Ray felt out the knot in the rope with his lips and the tip of his tongue. It seemed to be a double knot without the loops of a bow tie. He sighed and gripped part of the rope with his teeth, and pulled experimentally.

"Ah," Fraser said apologetically. "That's a bit tighter."

"Okay," Ray muttered. He felt the knot again with his lips and tongue, gripped a higher part of it with his top and bottom incisors, and tugged the other direction.

"That's better," Fraser said quietly. "Looser."

Encouraged, Ray continued to pull that section with his teeth. Fraser's wrists began wriggling, working apart. Ray lost his grip with his teeth, but tenaciously went back to it.

"That's helping, Ray—my bonds are loosening," Fraser admitted softly.

Holding his teeth tightly around the rope increased the sharp pain in Ray's head. "Fraser," he gritted through his teeth.

"Almost, Ray," Fraser replied, still wriggling his wrists.

Ray sighed and then gave one more violent tug. Fraser's wrists came suddenly apart, Fraser's hand banging against the inside of the trunk. They both froze, waiting for the sounds of road and the rhythm of driving to stop.

After several minutes, when they didn't, Ray concluded the driver hadn't heard the noise. Ticklish ends of rope dragged across Ray's cheeks in the dark as Fraser loosened the rope completely from his one wrist.

"Fraser, my head really hurts," Ray said quietly. "Can you..."

But Fraser was already gently feeling Ray's head, his fingertips stroking carefully across Ray's forehead, the bones around Ray's eyes, his cheekbones and jawline, and moving further back: along Ray's temples to the top of his head, behind his ears, stroking through Ray's hair, fingertips down to the scalp–

"Ow!" Ray yelped just as Fraser's fingers stroked over a tender, sensitive spot at the left back of his head.

"You have a lump," Fraser said quietly. His touch went feather-light. It would have been ticklish if the area hadn't been so sensitive.

Ray gritted his teeth. "How bad?"

Fraser's light touch skidded slightly over it and Ray hissed. "There seems to be blood," Fraser murmured. "But head wounds tend to bleed a lot; the amount of blood doesn't necessarily indicate—"

"Shit." Ray sighed as Fraser's fingers retreated. "If I bring my wrists up by my left shoulder, can you untie 'em?" Ray asked wearily.

"I think so," Fraser asked cautiously.

Ray did so and was relieved to feel Fraser's strong fingers palpating the rope and then trying to pick the knot apart. It hurt to hold both wrists up over his left shoulder while lying on his right side. Ray's head throbbed still, the sharp pain in rhythm with his heart a dull reminder of just another near-fatal ( _still_ potentially-fatal) misadventure with Fraser.

"Guess the car theft ring caught on to our surveillance." Ray sighed.

"It would appear so, yes," Fraser replied. "Do you still have your gun?"

Ray pressed his left elbow against his rib cage, but his holster was empty. "Nope. Wait–" He pressed his right ankle hard against the floor of the trunk. "Ha! They didn't get my boot gun."

"So, criminals whose elevator stops at the collarbone," Fraser noted. "I'm relieved to know that they're–"

"Sh, wait, the car's slowing down. Act restrained and unconscious!" Ray growled.

They both relaxed into fake-unconsciousness. The vertiginous deceleration and turning of the car made Ray glad he had skipped lunch, though who knew what time it was.

"Ray," Fraser whispered as the car slowed further. "Get your boot–"

"On it," Ray whispered back, scrunching himself into a tighter ball to grab his gun from his ankle holster. He tucked his "bound" wrists and the gun between his thighs to hide the weapon.

The car slowed further until it came to a complete stop and jerked slightly as the driver put it in Park. Ray heard a door open and the trunk release clicked. The slam of the car door shook everything, including them in the trunk. Footsteps approached the back of the car and then the lid of the trunk went up, but it didn't get much lighter. So, night, and a broken trunk light.

"Awright, guys, I didn't hit ya that hard, you gotta be awake by now," the man who opened the trunk said.

In one smooth move, Ray sat up and twisted to point his boot gun straight at the man's chest, only to be confronted by a CPD star in a leather badge holder held in the man's hand.

"You're CPD, too?" Ray squinted at it in the light of parking lot lights.

Fraser shifted behind and beside Ray, sitting up too, which really tightened the space around them both. "Excuse me?"

Ray lowered his gun.

"Detective Rusty Spurlock," the badge-holder said wearily. "You guys almost ruined two years of under cover work. Sorry about knockin' youse on the heads. I hadda make it look good." He handed Ray his gun. "Figured if I let ya keep yer ankle piece, you'd know somethin's up. Can I call ya a cab?"

His brown eyes had deep bags under them; he looked older and more tired than Welsh.

Ray holstered his ankle gun and then his full-size piece. He felt the knot on the back of his head. "I'll settle for a burger and an ice pack," he growled.

"There's a burger joint up the street," Spurlock said. "Want anything, Red?" he nodded at Fraser.

"Perhaps a hamburger and some French fries," Fraser said softly. "And an ice pack, if you please."

* * *

Spurlock left them at the burger joint with a bag of ice from the soft drink ice dispenser in a gallon-size zip lock plastic bag from the kitchen staff. Ray and Fraser took turns holding it to their respective head lumps as they waited in their hard plastic booth for their order. A few people had been in line before them and Spurlock had had to get back, so he jammed two twenties in Ray's hand, apologized again, and took off. At least he wasn't pissed at them.

Ray and Fraser avoided each others gazes the first five minutes of their wait for their food.

"Would you like me to get you some aspirin, Ray?" Fraser asked while Ray held the ice bag to the back of his head and glared at anyone who stared at them too long–which was many people, given Fraser's bright red uniform.

"Ibuprofen, not aspirin," Ray snapped and slapped one of the twenty-dollar bills from Spurlock into Fraser's hand. "Walgreens. Across the street. Biggest bottle possible."

"Right, ibuprofen. Aspirin would increase bleeding because of the anti..." Ray glared at him and Fraser bit his lip. "Ibuprofen, Walgreens, right. I'll return shortly," Fraser finished hastily and left.

Of course his head didn't seem to bother him as much as Ray's did, which now throbbed in a duller, more painfully encompassing way. Though maybe the bright fluorescent lights in the burger place were responsible for that. Ray sighed, wishing he had his sunglasses, and let the half-melted ice bag drop onto the hard plastic table.

What the hell had Fraser been dreaming when he'd been _saying_ that stuff in the trunk? It must have been sexual; he'd been thrusting his hard cock against Ray. Ray cradled his forehead in his hand, more worried over the sexual hijinks in Fraser's unconscious mind than his own head injury. That was how Fraser found him when he returned from the drugstore with a bottle of two hundred ibuprofen. The pills rattled in their plastic bottle as Fraser settled into the hard plastic booth across from him. Ray looked up wearily.

"You said the biggest bottle," Fraser said apologetically, withdrawing from the bag the theft-discouraging box that the large bottle of ibuprofen was in.

Ray tore into it just as the bell dinged at the counter. "Two cheeseburgers with fries for here, one root beer, one ginger ale," the man behind the counter said, sliding two brown plastic trays across the orange Formica counter.

"I'll get our food," Fraser said and got up to get both trays.

He brought them carefully to their table and suddenly the close smell of the hot food made Ray simply famished. He thought for a split second that if Fraser got between him and his burger that he'd rip his throat out, but the thought quickly passed.

Ray wrestled open the child-proof lid of the ibuprofen, tearing off the foil seal, discarding the cotton packing, and tilting the bottle to get four tablets into his palm. He slapped his palm to his mouth and quickly gulped the pills down with some ginger ale.

"Ray," Fraser urged, shoving Ray's tray of food closer to him. "Eat. You shouldn't take–"

"Four pills times two hundred milligrams is eight hundred milligrams, Fraser," Ray griped,"that's prescription strength and we are _not_ going to the ER–"

"–them on an empty stomach, I was saying," Fraser finished more firmly, raising an eyebrow while the corner of his mouth went down.

"Oh," Ray said, at a loss. He stared for a moment at Fraser's lips, which seemed oddly red, or maybe it was that the color of everything else faded in the fluorescent light here. Except the orange Formica of the counter and booths.

Fraser unwrapped his cheeseburger and fries and the scent of the food made Ray's stomach growl audibly. Their gazes locked again and Fraser suppressed a smile. Despite his headache, Ray grinned.

"My stomach lets it be known," he said to Fraser, capping the ibuprofen bottle and shoving it back in the drugstore bag before tearing into the wax paper around his cheeseburger and fries.

He got up just for a moment to step to the counter between the "Order Here" and "Pickup Here" signs and get one each of ketchup and mustard bottles. Then Ray sat down, liberally salted his fries with the bottle on their table–ignoring Fraser's looks askance–and dug in, adding extra mustard to his burger and a decent puddle of ketchup next to his fries.

They talked about the case between mouthfuls of hot food––not about anything that had happened in the trunk. As his belly filled and he relaxed and the pills took effect, Ray's headache subsided from throbbing into a dull, more-ignorable annoyance. Fraser seemed embarrassed–on the surface, about the fact that he hadn't deduced that they had staked out a car theft ring already under surveillance and infiltrated by undercover Chicago cops. Ray snarked smugly that for once he wasn't the only one in the dark and it was nice to see that Super Mountie senses could be as clueless as those of a Chicago flatfoot with experimental hair.

But underneath every good-natured exchange of mild insults and verbal rivalry, there was a deeper tension. Their gazes met often and as often skittered away. Ray's eyes were drawn to Fraser's lips and his hands. But whenever Fraser caught him staring at his mouth or hands, Ray looked away out the window. Yet in the window, because it was dark outside, he could observe Fraser's reflection almost perfectly. So he stared at that when he couldn't look at Fraser directly.

Ray longed for an open conversation about what this was between them. What had _always_ been between them from the start. It was something they skirted, avoided and yet somehow seemed to encourage, as least as far as their misadventures together were concerned. The Universe seemed determined to throw them together, repeatedly, into increasingly intimate yet often life-threatening circumstances where they had to trust each other.

They did–and they didn't. They went so far–saved each others skins and necks–and no farther. Always one or both balked at the last step, just before the consummation of closeness and comfort with each other that neither, so far as Ray knew, had with anyone else... and hadn't for a long time, in his own case. But he suspected the same was true of Fraser, if Vecchio's case files were anything to go by.

As if frustrated at their complete inability to take a hint, the Universe continued throwing Ray and Fraser into more and more confined and dependent circumstances together. It was torture. What would the next situation be–tied together? No, wait–tied together _on a bed_ , Ray thought–that would be the next intimate torture the Universe would throw their platonic partnership into. The torture was the two of them being forced closer and closer physically and not acting on anything and pretending it _wasn't_ torture.

Ray looked at Fraser's earnest profile reflected in the window and nodded at whatever Fraser was saying about department resources. He didn't know Fraser's reasons for holding back, but he knew his own. It wasn't because he hadn't already pictured he and Fraser as lovers–God, no. He'd begun that very early on, almost from the very beginning, after their time in the crypt with the old lady and the cigar smugglers.

Ray's early fantasies when he hadn't really known Fraser had simply been old fantasies of other men, with Fraser pasted in as the new sex object. But they'd progressed from there. They progressed into real events that went a different way in fantasy–that turned sexual where in real life they had remained platonic. In bed at night, everyone else melted away from the crypt like they were never there. And when Ray asked if Fraser found him attractive, Fraser never said "Well, I'm not really qualified to judge." Instead he crowded up against Ray and in addition to "Very much so, yes," Fraser murmured, "I can show you," and pulled Ray's hand to his hard cock with one hand while he pulled Ray's mouth to his with his other hand on the back of Ray's neck.

No, the problem wasn't that Ray couldn't picture he and Fraser as lovers. He could (and did) all too easily, and had quickly imposed a fierce discipline on those thoughts. He jerked his mind away from them and ruthlessly suppressed them in Fraser's presence and in all places except in bed or in the shower. Only alone in bed or under the hot needling spray did Ray let his mind freely yearn for and picture Fraser as his lover. He imagined in those few minutes how amazingly competent a lover Fraser probably was–or, conversely, how innocent and inexperienced Fraser might be (given his obvious discomfort with public displays of affection and his total absence of a known lover except for the woman who got him shot by Ray Vecchio). Ray secretly alternated between these two fantasy Frasers: one who knew just how to kiss and touch, suck and fuck Ray; and the other who was an eager but inexperienced passive partner, open to the new and scandalously smutty things Ray wanted to do to him.

So an inability to picture he and Fraser as lovers wasn't the problem. The problem was that, as time went on, they really _did_ become friends. It wasn't just an act, Ray as "Vecchio" behaving like Fraser's friend and Fraser acting like his. They really _were_ friends. He had Fraser's back and Fraser had his. He noticed how forlorn Fraser looked sometimes and he felt for the guy (and fell for the guy a little bit more) and tried to take him out and cheer him up, keep him occupied. Fraser did the same with him. Two bachelors, single men, buddies, partners, both once bitten and twice shy. Nothing weird about that. Right?

Except Ray had a habit of falling in love with his best friends or becoming best friends with whoever he was in love with... Either way, they became his world, his platonic _and_ sexual fixation. It happened with Fraser just like it had with Stella. Except without the sex. Ray told Fraser _everything._ He didn't even mind that Fraser didn't tell him much of anything except a lot of weird stories and anecdotes; Ray knew that somewhere in those weird stories, Fraser actually was _telling him things_. He might not always understand what, or what they meant... But he listened because this was as close as Fraser came to disclosure. And Ray didn't want to miss anything, not one detail that further explained just what made the enigma of Benton Fraser, RCMP, tick.

Looking back, Ray wasn't even sure when the fake friendship had turned real. It had begun slowly and subtly; then all of a sudden it was real. By the time they were punching each other at the lake front, it was deep friendship–and more, far more. It was like Vecchio's family only attacking the ones they loved: Ray Kowalski only ever wanted to punch people he really loved, people he really had it _bad_ for.

That had happened with Stella, too, except she was a woman, so of course he never touched her–never laid a hand on her. He couldn't say the same about some walls and doors. Besides, he and Stella could scream at each other until they were shaking with anger–then suddenly they were shaking with something else.

Then Ray couldn't get his pants open fast enough, Stella couldn't get her skirt up fast enough, and it was right there in the kitchen doorway or the department store bathroom or the empty parking garage elevator, emergency stop button pulled out between floors with the alarm bell ringing. That had been some of their hottest sex. Later, cool sweat drying on his upper lip and the small of his back, tugging her skirt down and smoothing it while she tucked him in and zipped him up, Ray couldn't even remember _what_ they'd been arguing about.

But Ray was _just friends_ with Fraser. No matter that he knew Fraser so well, he knew every last one of Fraser's tiny little tics and habits that drove him crazy (and _drove him crazy_ ). He couldn't do _any_ of that with Fraser. Ray had no idea if this was all in his own head or if he drove Fraser equally crazy (like, really _crazy_ )–if Fraser felt the same urge to punch walls and thought the same things about him that he did about Fraser in the dark or in the shower.

So it all just simmered and simmered until it boiled over and came out sideways and he punched Fraser. Then later he demanded Fraser punch him back. Ray could dish it out, but never let it be said he couldn't take it, too: he could and he _would_. Never mind that he wanted Fraser's hands on him a completely _different_ way, a way that seemed increasingly one-sided and utterly impossible and, and–Ray just couldn't go on like this, he _couldn't_. So it boiled over and came out wrong.

The wanting and desire were harder and harder to cram into just a few minutes in the dark or under hot pounding water. They bled into major moments and trivial times. Like when Fraser had handcuffed him in the Consulate. As they'd become closer, as their friendship and partnership deepened, the handcuffing came back to Ray, occurred to him too often, sprang to mind at the wrong times and places– _vexe_ _d_ Ray, tormented him for _weeks._

It had seeped into those spacey, automatic pilot moments when Ray drove, paying half a mind to Fraser's discussion with Dief (and when had conversing with a half-wolf become _normal_?), while the rest of Ray's mind imagined his wrists cuffed by Fraser while Fraser did _everything_ to him.

From sucking Ray's cock, hard and rough and too fast and then adding fingers to bring Ray to a brutal, almost unwilling, orgasm, one Ray couldn't escape (because _wrists cuffed_ )...

...to Ray bent over an ottoman in the parlor of the Consulate, Fraser fucking slow and sweet...

...to Ray's hands cuffed behind his back, pushed down to his knees by Fraser, who touched his cock first to Ray's lips and then slowly eased it into Ray's mouth, urging Ray to suck it. Murmured low and sweet that Ray's cocksucking was good, really good, so fucking good. Encouraged Ray past the point when his jaw and mouth and tongue felt stiff and tired. Fraser just generally used Ray's mouth like a masturbatory device to bring him to the edge multiple times before he spurted his load deep in Ray's throat and gently but firmly talked Ray through successfully swallowing all of it, lavishing Ray with praise when he did, leaving Ray glowing with either embarrassment or pleasure or some strange, proud mixture of both...

Then something would happen, like a ball would get kicked into the street in front of the car, and Ray would slam on the brakes, jerking him out of his auto-pilot sexy reverie and silencing Fraser and Dief, only for Ray to find he was erect and painfully hard and Fraser was looking at him a little more oddly than usual. Then he'd notice Fraser's hand gripping the dashboard, braced there because of the sudden stop, and Ray's mind would spin off in another sexual direction...

...Like noticing the size and shape and perfect thickness and bluntness yet strange delicacy of Fraser's fingers and hands and the ways he used them... and how he could use them on Ray. How he might unbutton and unzip Ray's pants with them... pull Ray's jeans and boxer briefs down... caress Ray's hips and ass and cock and balls with them... Then stick his index and middle fingers in Ray's mouth, make Ray suck them and get them really, really wet...

No, by the time he punched Fraser at the lake front, Ray couldn't keep those worlds separate anymore. Every little thing Fraser did drove him nuts because he was already at a state of tension, a ticking bomb, one for which daily proximity to Fraser lit the fuse and he could no longer pinch it out before it reached the end. So he exploded. The wrong way.

Made Fraser give it back to him, though. Then they would both take their transfers because Ray didn't think he could take this any more, this closeness with no coming together, with no outlet except maybe letting Fraser beat on him in a boxing ring. That was the idea, anyway.

But then it was sinking ships and him near drowning and Fraser literally giving him breath, Fraser's mouth and breath the only warm things surrounded on all sides by cold metal, cold water, cold, cold, cold. So of course, after that, he'd asked Fraser if anything had changed between them. Of course Fraser had said no. Then, almost immediately, Fraser had endangered his life in yet another wildly bizarre way. And Ray had let him. Again and again. And again...

 _Dammit, Fraser_ , Ray remembered saying some time later, _if you were gonna drop a guy, you gotta say something first like, ‘Ray, I'm gonna drop ya'_. Why had it never occurred to him that Fraser shouldn't drop him because Fraser shouldn't be holding him up or picking him up? Because they were partners. When Fraser wasn't picking him up or holding him up, he was picking Fraser up or holding him up. That's what you did for your partner, for your friend. Each time, every time. And him for you.

You most certainly didn't imagine sucking his cock or him sucking yours. But Ray had long ago lost that battle. After the Henry Anderson, Allen, whatever, when his bladder woke him in the night and he stumbled off to piss and then settled back in bed, warm but alone, Ray's mind wandered back to the sinking ship. Remembered him soaking wet and cold after almost drowning and Fraser's buddy breathing saving him. But now when he asked Fraser "Nothing's, like, changed or anything, right?" Fraser didn't say "No." He came very close, his storm-blue eyes and red lips the only things Ray could focus on and whispered, "Of _course_ , Ray, _everything_ has changed, how could it _not_? I want you more than _ever_ now, just as I have all along..." Then he devoured Ray's mouth.

Or sometimes Fraser said and did what he had in real life–denied anything had changed. But when Ray said "Don't get too excited, Fraser, the jury's still out on this partnership thing," Fraser came close, put a shockingly warm hand on Ray's jaw and said, "I can't help it, Ray–you excite me..." and taught Ray's mouth a new word for 'ravish' while his other hand swept across Ray's hardening nipple and then under his shirt, into his pants...

God, what did Ray have to do? The tension was building between them again. This time they couldn't punch each other to dispel it or threaten to take transfers; they were way past that now. It was like a living thing thrumming between them while they tried valiantly to pretend it wasn't there... failing, always failing to either successfully pretend or to take it far enough.

Ray swung his gaze from Fraser's reflection in the window back to Fraser, his gaze unerringly landing on Fraser's mouth. Whatever Fraser had been saying, he slowly trailed off.

"Ray?" he asked uncertainly, his eyebrows climbing slightly.

"You done?" Ray asked tersely, looking away again. He shoved some French fries in his mouth and chewed so he wouldn't say anything else.

"I–yes," Fraser answered. He crumpled up the napkin he'd just used to wipe the corners of his mouth, and dropped it on his tray.

Ray swallowed. "Then let's go," he said, grabbing his soda, sucking the last of it down, and standing to grab his tray and the bag with the ibuprofen from the drugstore. He tilted everything on the tray (but the plastic basket for the burger) into the garbage can and left the basket and tray on top of it. Fraser followed suit. Ray shoved the bottle of ibuprofen in his pocket and stuffed the box in the garbage.

They went outside and Fraser hailed a cab (they stopped for Fraser about two-point-seven-times as often as they did for Ray). (Why did he even remember that figure? Yet another Fraser factoid, when he'd argued that cabs stopped for Fraser more than for himself, and Fraser said that was ridiculous, and so they'd kept track, and calculations proved they did stop for Fraser more often -- two point seven times more often, to be exact.)

In the cab on the way back to the GTO parked by the warehouse they'd staked out, Ray looked at Fraser. Fraser stared out the window at the passing streetscape. As if he felt Ray's gaze on him, he turned to Ray expectantly. Ray had to look away.

"You going to walk Dief?" he asked Fraser, looking out the window.

"Yes, that was my plan," Fraser admitted quietly.

"I'll come with you," Ray said.

Fraser hesitated a moment and Ray stiffened, preparing himself for Fraser's typical self-sufficient _that won't be necessary_ denial. But it didn't come.

"Thank you, Ray," Fraser said softly.

Ray shifted in his seat and glanced cautiously at Fraser, but now Fraser looked out the window away from Ray.

* * *

Dief ran ahead of them, stopping only to snuffle here and there among interesting bits of trash and along the leaves and lower trunks of bushes and trees. Ray and Fraser walked together after Dief. Instead of their usual occasional companionable silence, there was a charge to the air between them, like the air before a thunderstorm or before a lightning strike.

Ray fought down a terrible urge to push Fraser deeper into the park and up against a tree, to literally get in his face and press their mouths together insistently, hands roaming wherever they wanted. He glanced over at Fraser, who he found looking at him–and who then looked away, almost as if he were embarrassed to be caught looking. The frustration and urgency surfacing in Ray was reaching a peak of need and despair.

Up until tonight–until being locked in the trunk with a half-conscious, dreaming Fraser complimenting and praising Dream Ray for something sexual or sensual he had been doing to Dream Fraser–Ray had been able to hold back from pushing for anything more. Because the possibility of losing Fraser felt like he would be losing _everything_. But tonight, having all of Fraser _except_ his passion, his sultry croon of sensual appreciation, was somehow more than Ray could bear. He walked stiffly alongside Fraser, tightly wound and tense, with nowhere to go with it. In his jacket pockets, his fists clenched and unclenched; his jaw worked.

They turned back to return to the Consulate after Diefenbaker had run the length of two baseball fields numerous times just for the joy of it, his chase of park rabbits merely an excuse, not serious. Gum, Ray needed gum, something to do with his mouth before he said something they would both regret but which thickened his throat into silence with a cross between despondency and desire. He reached into an inside pocket and with trembling hands withdrew a pack of gum, taking out a piece and unwrapping it. His hands shook so badly, he dropped the foil wrapper.

Fraser picked it up from the ground and handed it back to Ray, who unintentionally snatched it out of his hands too violently. He saw the concerned, almost hurt expression on Fraser's face, the shine of some indefinable insight in Fraser's eyes, and looked away. Ray crumpled the foil wrapper into a tiny ball in his fist, and punched it into the next garbage can they passed.

"You're very quiet tonight," Fraser ventured softly as they turned a corner and the Consulate came into view.

Ray shook his head No, then thought better of it and nodded Yes. He couldn't speak.

"Are you all right?" Fraser asked and put a hand on his shoulder, stopping them both. They were about forty feet from the walk to the stairs up to the Consulate.

"I..." Ray's voice was ragged. "I'm fine," he lied.

He sounded anything but, Ray realized desperately. He had to get away. No, he had to get Fraser alone. No, he had to get _away_ , before he pushed them both into something from which there was no turning back... Something for which he'd always fantasized the answer would be _yes–_ but for which he did not really know what Fraser's answer would be. So there was probably an equal chance the answer would be _no_.

What if Fraser felt the same way Ray did? What if Fraser wanted more, too, yet felt that what they had–their you're-my-whole-world-we-do-everything-important-together-that's-buddies thing–was _everything_ , worth more than anything, something he couldn't risk losing? What if even though Fraser wanted so much more, even yearned to take the next step, the possibility of losing what they had had made him hold back all this time, every time, no matter how many times the Universe threw them together in increasingly intimate situations?

"Are you really... fine?" Fraser asked gently. His expression shaded from faintly disbelieving to concerned but willing to accept Ray's lie if it came a second time. If that wasn't the purest example of their friendship, their partnership–that willingness to accept Ray's obvious lie at face value and not push harder until and unless Ray was ready to be pushed–Ray didn't know what was.

"No," Ray finally sighed heavily, leaning into Fraser's hand on his shoulder, hanging his head, feeling everything about to spill out. "No. I'm not fine. I don't know why I said that."

"I thought as much," Fraser said, squeezing Ray's shoulder. "Why don't you come in for a cup of–"

"Oh, God, Fraser, I _can't_ ," Ray moaned, jerking away from Fraser. "I can't. Don't ask why unless you really want to know," he pleaded, looking down at the sidewalk. "Once you know, you can't un-know."

Fraser stood silently behind him, unmoving, for a long moment. "All right," he said, his voice a cross between hurt and cautious. That killed Ray, that hurt in his voice; it wasn't Fraser's fault, or Ray's fault. It just _was_ , and Fraser shouldn't feel _hurt_ about it.

"Perhaps you'll tell me some other time," Fraser added softly, his awkward tone overlaying something else. He walked on toward the Consulate. "I'll see you–"

"Tomorrow, yeah," Ray choked out. He fled to the GTO, parked directly across the street.

With relief he swiftly unlocked her and settled roughly behind the wheel. On automatic pilot, he had the key in the ignition, hand on the shift knob, and one foot each on the clutch and gas to start her up and make sure she was in neutral. He looked over and watched the Consulate door shut behind Fraser and Dief. Ray gunned the engine in neutral, watching the GTO's rpms climb into the red, just like he was.

No. No. Not anymore. It was time to shift into gear. Knowing would be better than not knowing. He had done it before with Stella: had stepped back from _I love you I need you I want you_ to _Yeah we can be just friends_. Didn't mean Ray didn't still love her or didn't still want her. For a long time. But he got over it, got past it. Eventually.

Stella held firm most (but not all...) of the time. That helped. If Fraser rejected this, now, Ray had no doubt Fraser would even more firmly rebuff any future drunken late night visits from Ray. (Not that that was likely to happen. It had only happened with Stella because of what they'd had–their sexual chemistry and deep history. Whereas if Fraser rejected him now, Ray would have none of that to tempt him. The humiliation would just be... deeper. Last longer...) Ray understood he and Stella worked better as friends now. He could do that with Fraser–if that was how it turned out. But he had to know. He had to _know_.

Ray turned the ignition off, made sure the GTO's parking brake was on, and got out of the car before his nerve failed. His feet seemed to carry him across the street and to the locked door of the Consulate almost instantly. He fished in his pocket for his wallet and drew out a credit card he never used.

The door lock yielded to his credit card and he opened it, the dark wood and silence of the large, empty Consulate suddenly slightly intimidating. Only the desk lamp on the front desk was on in the main foyer. Its warm rectangle of light shone on paperwork Fraser must have been working on. This was reassuring, somehow. Ray cocked his head, listening. He heard what he thought were faint sounds in either the rear kitchen where Turnbull liked to cook, or in Fraser's room.

Ray made his way down the hall, his footfalls quieted by the carpet. He paused at Fraser's room's doorway. There was Fraser, Serge off, sitting in his white Henley shirt and puffy pants, his back to the door. A steaming mug of tea steeped on his desk. He murmured to Diefenbaker.

"Of course I know he's not aware–"

Dief, laying on the floor, cocked his head at Ray and softly yipped. Fraser abruptly stopped speaking and looked over his shoulder at Ray in his doorway. He didn't look at all surprised to see him.

"Hi, Ray," he said far too evenly, his eyes large and dark, shining strangely.

"Fraser," Ray barked, his voice harsh with unspoken things.

Dief sat up and yipped softly again. Ray came swiftly around the desk and knelt on the floor at Fraser's feet, shrugging out of his jacket right there. Fraser glanced briefly at Dief and then his gaze snapped back to Ray.

"Ray," Fraser said weakly, looking down at Ray, a blush rising on his cheeks. "Please–"

"No," Ray said stubbornly, his voice low and determined. "Tell me what to do. Tell me what you dreamed in the trunk tonight. You said my name. And other things. Tell me what to do, so you say them now."

"I... can't." Fraser's voice was soft and fretful. "I–you–"

Dief quietly got up. Only the swish of his tail as he passed told Ray he had left the room.

"You can." Ray nodded encouragingly, looking up at Fraser. He watched Fraser redden further, felt heat in his own face. "I _want_ you to tell me what to do," Ray added fiercely, half plea, half ultimatum. "So you say those things _for real_."

He put his hands on Fraser's knees, felt the fine tremble in Fraser's legs, then. Fraser bit his lip, his brow furrowing. He looked away. Ray dropped his gaze too. He gently pushed Fraser's knees farther apart, moving closer between them, feeling the warmth of Fraser's nearness, his body.

"You never have a problem telling me what to do," Ray murmured softly, glancing up at Fraser through his lashes. "You tell me to drive a burning car into a lake. Or jump five stories into water. You signal me to jump through skylights. Why now? I _know_ you want me. You _said_ you want me."

"I was dreaming," Fraser muttered, avoiding Ray's gaze. "You can't hold a man's–or we'd all–and dreams aren't real–"

"I'll make them real," Ray promised, squeezing Fraser's knees, calming their tremor. _"Just tell me what to do,_ " he demanded quietly.

As Ray looked boldly up one more time, Fraser's brow cleared and he met Ray's eyes. His blush faded, except for a ruddy color high on his cheeks. He set his jaw, his brow straightened determinedly, and he nodded decisively. He licked his lips.

"Open my pants, Ray," he ordered quietly.

Ray looked down at the fly of Fraser's striped pants and slid his hands up the loose fabric covering Fraser's thighs. The bagginess of the pants normally hid, well, everything. Ray unbuttoned and unzipped Fraser's fly, held onto either side of the open fly, and waited.

There was no going back now.

"Open my underwear as well." Fraser spoke gently but firmly.

Ray pulled the opening of Fraser's baggy pants wider. Fraser shifted, slouching back somewhat. The outline of Fraser's stiff cock was obvious even beneath his loose boxers. Ray reached for the waistband with one hand, and pulled it out and down.

"Take me out," Fraser added relentlessly.

With his other shaking hand, Ray reached to grasp the hot, solid length of Fraser's uncircumcised cock as it sprang forward, liberated from his boxers. The skin was darker than he'd imagined, Fraser being so pale, but then everything got darker when blood rushed to it... Dark hair curled around the base of Fraser's cock, with a strip of it climbing and narrowing up Fraser's lower stomach and disappearing beneath the hem of Fraser's Henley. A happy trail.

It was happening. It was really _happening_ _._ Ray had Fraser's cock _in his hand_. He shifted forward on his knees, his armpits over Fraser's thighs, feeling them quiver–but now, he hoped, for an entirely different reason.

Fraser hadn't yet told him what to do next. Ray held Fraser's cock loosely, then tightened his grip on it. Above him, a smothered gasp escaped Fraser's clenched teeth and his hands came to rest on Ray's shoulders. Ray felt rather than saw Fraser take a deep breath.

"Stroke me up and down," came Fraser's low demand.

Ray began to jack Fraser's cock, first slackly and slowly, then faster and tighter. It was different jacking Fraser's cock than his own. Fraser had more loose skin. Ray tightened his grip and moved his hand faster.

"This okay?" Ray murmured, uncertain, watching the wet head of Fraser's cock move in and out of the foreskin with each up-down stroke.

"Yes," Fraser murmured above him. "Your hand feels very good," he whispered, breathing harder.

His cock thickened and hardened further in Ray's grasp, verifying his statement. His foreskin drew back completely from the tapered, glistening head. Ray jerked Fraser harder, faster, tighter.

"Cup my–balls–with your other hand." Fraser spoke tightly. His thigh muscles hardened under Ray's armpits.

Ray did as he was told, pulling Fraser's boxers down further to expose them. They were lightly furred with the same dark hair there was around the base of Fraser's cock. This was so much more flesh of Fraser's than Ray had never seen before, all of it beautiful and dusky and making Ray hard.

"Yes, like that," Fraser growled, shifting again, sliding his ass forward on his chair. "That's–right. Yes. Good."

Ray tightened his grip and moved his hand faster on Fraser's cock as he rolled his balls in his other hand.

"God, yes," Fraser panted above him, his hands in a vice grip that moved from Ray's shoulders to his upper arms. "That's–yes, fondle–unh," he groaned. "Keep on–don't stop–"

His voice sounded wet, somehow. The head of his cock leaked a shining dribble of wetness down into Ray's grip, making his strokes jerky and rougher.

"That's," Fraser said hoarsely, "good. _You're_ good. To me. _You'_ re–so sweet–Ray, take me in–"

"–my mouth, Fraser, can I?" Ray groaned, leaning so close he could smell the warm, musky scent of Fraser's sex, the scent of clean sweat, the piney soap Fraser used.

"Yes, your mouth, Ray," Fraser growled, sliding one hand from Ray's upper arm to the back of Ray's neck, stroking the close-shorn hair there.

Ray put his tongue out, licked Fraser's cock-head, tasted the sweet-salty pre-come leaking from the piss-slit, the velvety soft skin, and then–

"Suck it." Fraser's voice was iron velvet: soft but implacable. "Suck my cock _now_." It was the most boorish, uncivilized thing Ray had ever heard Fraser say. He _loved_ it.

Ray groaned around Fraser's cock in his mouth, moving his head up and down, covering his teeth with his lips, moving faster, breathing on his off-strokes. He sucked and sucked, faster and tighter, listening to Fraser's breathing hitch and accelerate until he was panting.

"God, your mouth, Ray, so perfect..." Fraser moaned. "So smart-aleck, sarcastic, sweet and lovely–"

Ray's other hand cupped, rolled, and stroked Fraser's balls. He felt them tighten with excitement, pulling up against Fraser's body, the seam between them becoming prominent and ridged. Ray's own pants felt tight as his hard cock swelled.

"Wanted this so long..." Fraser's voice was a cross between panting and whispering. "Your sweet mouth, lovely hands–better even than I–oh, it's good, Ray, _so_ good. _Yo_ _u're_ good. Such a good boy–I _knew_ you would be–"

Ray's chest warmed at Fraser's sensual praise, glad he could give this to Fraser, do it the way Fraser liked, the way he'd dreamed, the way he _wanted_. Ray added swirls of his tongue around the head of Fraser's cock on the off-strokes, and Fraser gasped. As Ray increased his speed, he felt saliva gather at the corners of his mouth, not caring.

"Faster, yes–oh, I won't last–you don't how I've–but now I've got–you're mine, _mine_ ," Fraser's voice dropped in tone but increased in urgency. "Oh–don't stop–amazing–your talented tongue–your mouth, Ray, your _mouth–_ ah!–would sail ships, Ray, topple governments, yes, oh, oh, ah!–"

Fraser came, hard, as Ray's mouth moved up and down on his cock, tight and wet and sloppy. Was Fraser whispering or was Ray imagining the _don't spit_ _,_ _don't spit_ _,_ _you can do it_ _,_ _don't spit_? No matter. For Fraser, he would always have swallowed anyway. And he did, again and again, his throat tightening around Fraser's cock.

Fraser groaned and he whispered a running monologue through his clenched teeth. "Good. So good. Dear God, yes, take it all. That's it. My sweet Ray. You're amazing. You're so good..." He trailed off.

His fingers gripped Ray's upper arm and the back of Ray's neck tightly, not holding him down, not to choke him... as if Fraser needed something to hold _onto_ while his thighs and lower belly quivered and his spurts and jerks weakened and slowed.

Finally, Fraser's cock was barely twitching and just beginning to soften, his grip fierce and tight in Ray's arm and the back of his neck. Ray swallowed one more time, coming off Fraser's cock with one last tight, wet stroke. Fraser's thighs trembled one last time and he moaned.

Ray sat back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He braced one hand on his knee and squeezed his hard dick in his pants with the other. He groaned softly and looked up at Fraser. Fraser's face was pale but for red spots high on his cheeks. The edges of his hairline at his temples were damp, his eyes were squeezed shut tight. His upper teeth bit into his red lower lip. He was gorgeous.

Then Fraser suddenly leaned forward and down, smashing their mouths together so swiftly Ray was caught off guard. Both of Fraser's hands cradled Ray's jaw and held him still for a desperate, deep kiss. There was gratitude there, and gladness, and a few other things too. Then Fraser drew back, his arms threading under Ray's armpits to half-pull/half-drag Ray close, crushing him against his chest and stomach and his white Henley shirt in a tight, encompassing hug. The smell of warm cotton and Fraser's skin filled Ray's nostrils and he slipped his arms around Fraser. Fraser's lips pressed into Ray's hair, moving and flattening his spikes as Fraser murmured a soft mantra.

"Oh, Ray, that was so _good_ , why have we never–? All this time–what we've been _missing_! And you're so amazing–so _wonderful_ –I don't deserve–"

Ray shifted in Fraser's steadfast arms. "What do you mean, you don't deserve?" Ray objected softly into warm cotton. "Why wouldn't you? We both do. You save me, I save you, that's how this works." He sighed contentedly.

"All right, yes," Fraser breathed into Ray's hair, still panting. "We both do. You do me, then I do you–"

"Wait," Ray shifted, moving back in Fraser's arms until he had backed up enough to look up at Fraser's sleepy face. "That's not what I said, Frase. I said ‘you save me, I save you'..."

Fraser opened his eyes. His drowsy, blissed-out gaze met Ray's, his pupils wide and dark. His lips curved in a smile Ray hadn't seen since Fraser had looked around a vast, empty snow field with the joyous grin of homecoming. It was beautiful.

"Can it be both?" Fraser asked gently. "You don't know," he murmured, brushing his knuckles against Ray's cheek, "how this saves me. How long I've waited and hoped, unable to make the first move, lacking your courage, your strength in surrender to emotion." His eyes searched Ray's face.

Ray blinked. "Strength and surrender?"

Fraser nodded seriously and slid off his chair onto his knees, level with Ray. He embraced Ray fully and tightly.

"You have both," he murmured into Ray's neck. "You're much stronger than I that way. I can push you out a plane. Rocket you out of a sinking ship. Take all kinds of risks that duty dictates. But..."

Fraser's voice faltered and became very quiet. "I am lost with this," he said, so quietly Ray almost didn't hear it. "I couldn't push myself to do it. You _could_. You could push us _both_." Fraser emphasized with a hug so tight, Ray could hardly breathe. He clutched at Fraser happily.

Fraser pulled back and then leaned in and kissed Ray. His lips parted and Ray's did too; the tips of their tongues touched. Fraser pushed Ray back, slowly and steadily, farther and farther back, until Ray lay back completely on the carpet on the floor in Fraser's room. Fraser pulled back then, kneeling above Ray, smiling. Ray looked up at him questioningly, relaxed, yet ready for anything.

Fraser stroked a hand up Ray's thigh to cup and squeeze his hard cock, then unbuttoned and unzipped Ray's pants. Ray sighed happily as his cock was given more room, then glanced up as Fraser sat back on his heels.

"Topple governments?" Ray asked softly.  
  
Fraser froze in the middle of pulling his Henley over his head. He looked a bit sheepish.

"Indeed," Fraser nodded seriously, removing his Henley. Beneath that he had on a thin, sleeveless T-shirt. "That was not just hyperbole."

"Good to know." Ray sighed gustily.

"Although I'm not sure I'm qualified to judge..." Fraser grasped the hem of his sleeveless T and peeled it off.

"Hey!" Ray kicked Fraser lightly, looking up at the creamy planes of his chest and abdomen, his dark, puckered nipples.

"Ow." Fraser grabbed Ray's leg to prevent further kicking. "Your turn," he murmured happily. He smiled gamely down at Ray. "Tell me what to do..."

Ray grinned in anticipation.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta-ed... all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> So, uh, I guess this is what happens when I'm sick with the stomach flu the day before New Year's Eve, and New Year's Eve, and New Year's Day. This was _supposed_ to be a [dSSS 2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/dsss_2017) treat, but then it got waaaay too long and I missed the deadline. I'm gifting it and posting it anyway, dammit.  Where was this muse for my pinch hit? Grrr.


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